Bloody Pictures
by Ranowa Hikura
Summary: After rescuing Roy from being tortured, Maes then has to keep him company until medics arrive. Now a series of oneshots.
1. Bloody Pictures

Not a single idea where the bloody hell this came from. Not a single. one. Maes and Roy's friendship just does very cruel things to my heart, because, ya know, Maes IS love, and I love Roy, and they just make me want to write. May also be followed up with an Elicia and Roy oneshot that's set up here but, that's only if my muse wants it. I'm shocked she even wanted this; I thought I was all FMA-ed out. If there is a sequel, it'll come after I post the end to Fire. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Maes Hughes was not a violent man, and after Ishval he found killing so distasteful that even his own wife had wondered how he had managed to rise so high in the ranks of such a bloodthirsty military.

Maes Hughes was not a violent man, and when he saw the man standing above Roy, bloodied mallet in his hand, and heard his best friend cry out, he shot the bastard through the head.

No questions asked, no hesitation, no uncertainty, no anything except _he's hurting Roy, and I want him dead._

The interrogator was propelled forward with the force of the bullet, blood leaking from the back of his head and spraying out in the front. Maes could see it splatter even in the dark and watched, heart pounding in the briefest instant of bloodlust, as the man crumpled where he stood.

When he crumpled onto Roy, Maes regretted it, if only as much that he just wished he'd shot the bastard from a different direction, so he would've fallen against the wall instead.

The dead interrogator was collapsed over Roy's chest, limp head fallen against the colonel's neck and body nearly crushing the fragile form beneath him. Roy was left to blink over the shoulder at his neck and arm flung over his back, clearly completely stunned. That befuddled, so innocently surprised stare was so incongruous when reflected in bloodshot eyes and a mouth with blood trailing from the corner that Maes almost laughed aloud.

The two sleepless nights he'd just spent looking for Roy might've also had something to do with it.

Roy just looked at him for several long, breathless moments. His face was frozen, frozen in that strange juxtaposition of near childish surprise and a very adult pain, and red-rimmed eyes pierced him through with their depth of indescribable agony Maes had not been prepared to face. When split lips cracked hesitantly into an unsure grin, it made his heart hurt in all the wrong ways, but no matter how awful and _wrong_ it looked Roy was alive and smiling at him, and in that moment he could process nothing beyond that.

He'd imagined a sassy mutter of _What took you so long, soldier,_ or perhaps _You always did procrastinate even worse than me_ as his greeting, hoped for it, even, hoped for the slice of normalcy, a smugness that was purely _Roy._ But no sarcastic wit or eager sass danced in that coal black stare; there was nothing there, nothing at _all,_ and that emptiness chilled him to the bone.

"G-Guess you're r-real, th-th-then," Roy stammered at last, still sounding more shocked than relieved. "Hallucination Maes w-wouldn't h-h-have left the guy o-on m-m-me."

The words left him still with horror for several seconds, the implications hitting him like a sickening punch to the gut. Roy had been hallucinating? Hallucinating _him?_

 _God, we should've found him sooner..._

When Maes just stared at him, at a loss for words, bloody lips stretched into another wolfish grin through the bars. "Been a l-long couple of... weeks?"

He heard the inflection at the end, the unspoken question, and somehow that shook Maes out of his stupid shock. He cleared his throat and pulled the stolen keys off his belt, swiftly jamming the first into the lock on the cell door. "...Six," he forced out, not able to meet Roy's eye at that. "...Six weeks."

"...Oh."

Maes breathed a sigh of relief when the key clicked in the lock and shouldered the creaking door open, wasting no time in moving directly to his friend's side. He heaved the dead interrogator off him first, tossing him carelessly to hit the grimy wall behind him, then jerked his knife out his belt. He went for the rope binding Roy's hands, but the moment his fingers touched abused flesh the icy temperature shocked him to his core. It felt like touching a block of ice.

Cursing inwardly, Maes let the knife clatter to the ground as he shrugged off his own uniform jacket. It was freezing down here, and Roy, in his wet with blood torn remnants of a shirt, was shivering and barely able to talk through violently chattering teeth. The shivering was actually a good sign, but Maes wasn't going to take his chances with hypothermia. "Here," he said quietly, fixing his jacket as snugly as he could around Roy's trembling shoulders. "Sorry. I.. I know it's not much."

The pronounced scowl looked almost demonic against gaunt cheeks that were white as cold snow under bruises purple as a dusk sky. "Any d-day now, M-Maes," he stammered, arms pulling weakly at restraints again.

He jolted, going for his knife again. "Oh, of course! Sorry." He inwardly cursed himself again and leaned closer, reaching forward to try and gently ease his friend more onto his side so he could reach his hands better.

" _Don't touch me,"_ Roy hissed, mouth curling into a snarl. " _Don't touch me!"_ Onyx eyes suddenly burned in a swelling inferno of a man pushed into a corner and ready to kill to get his way out of it, and he stared directly at Maes in a sudden burning gaze of hate that knocked the wind out of him.

He couldn't bring himself to look away.

"R... Roy..."

Fear abruptly drained so quickly it could have only been Roy forcing it, darkly bruised eyes suddenly shuttering to become absolutely blank. "I... I just mean..." he coughed awkwardly, then struggled to clear his throat, more blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth.

Maes shut his eyes for a moment, a shudder of guilt trembling through his shoulders. Of course Roy wouldn't want to be touched. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why had he thought touching him without warning right now, after what he'd just been through, was a _good idea?_ "Roy, I'm-"

But the colonel shook his head, interrupting him without a word or even a look back at him. "No," he managed, hoarse and quiet. "It's just... I... I wouldn't... d-do that... if I w-were you."

Roy wouldn't meet his eyes now, the barely disguised terror still dancing in the bloodshot black, but there was something else hidden in his voice now, and Maes swallowed, barely able to keep himself in check. "What is it, Roy?"

"...My back..." Roy's eyes shifted again, and his voice shook. "They, um..."

"Talk to me, Roy." His hand moved forward again of its own accord, wanting to touch a shoulder or a hand to comfort; he yanked it back in the same moment that Roy flinched.

"...They, um, hit something in my... spine, and I... I think something's broken, M-Maes. ...So, y-you probably shouldn't m-m-move m-me."

It took a few moments for the words to sink in, but when they finally did, Maes abruptly felt dizzy. His gut clenched with nausea as he swayed back, eyes darting from Roy's impossibly still legs to his swollen face. The unspoken terror that Roy was still trying to hide screamed out at him when the man reluctantly met his gaze again, and Maes felt his hand start shaking.

Paralysis.

 _God, no..._

 _God, NO, Roy..._

The impossible question stumbled out somehow through gritted teeth, clawing its way out of his mouth no matter how much he didn't want to give a voice to this unspeakable possibility. "Can you move your legs, Roy?" He tried to keep his voice steady for Roy's sake, but the words tasted like broken glass in his throat.

Roy held his gaze for a moment, eyes narrowing. "Don't t-think I r-r-really want t-to try."

His eyes said, _please don't make me, Maes._

Maes opened his mouth again, then swiftly shut it, feeling ill. The urge to try and gently coax him into at least attempting it was strong, because if he did and found out he could, then it'd mean the banishment of some of that dark fear making him shake and that Maes could move to get his friend out of this hellhole _now,_ and not have to wait for medics.

But looking at his friend now, and finding the despair just barely held at bay, he knew that Roy could not handle even trying.

The possibility that he'd find half his body suddenly dead was quite clearly too much for him to try and face, and right now, when he was lying on the bloody floor of a prison cell and so close to the edge he was hanging off of it, was not the time to force it.

Besides, Roy's black terror was contagious, and it had left Maes not really wanting to hear the answer to that question now, either.

"...Okay," he finally forced out. His gut clenched again as if he had the flu. "It'll take maybe half an hour for the military to finish clearing through this place and get some medics down here. If you can wait that long...?"

Roy held silent for a moment, then coughed wetly again. His shoulders quivered with the pain but other than that he held very still, gaze fixated blankly at the wall. "W-waited six weeks," he muttered at last, and said nothing more than that.

Guilt made his hands shake, but Maes somehow stopped himself from apologizing for it. Roy would only tell him not to, and it sounded hard enough for him to speak as it was. Rather, he forced himself to move again, trying to keep himself active and stop his mind from dwelling on things that he didn't want to think about. He radioed in his location to the rest of the troops as well as a request for medics, then moved carefully to sit behind Roy and tried to get a good angle at his restraints, flicking out his knife again.

Roy flinched when Maes touched his arm, lips curling back in another snarl. _"Don't touch..._ s-sorry," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut again. His shoulders shook with unspoken emotion, cold horror melting into warm shame.

At seeing that, Maes had to shut his eyes for a moment before he continued on.

It was a little difficult, cutting through the rope while keeping Roy as still as possible; it took him a minute, and Maes' eyes began to wander. They traveled from bloody, scabbed wrists to look at his back, then jerked away at the sight of his too prominent spine to land on his legs instead.

The blood stain on the back of his pants, isolated and seemingly without origin, took a few seconds to really register. When he finally actually processed it, it was with the sudden, ice cold clarity of understanding; the awkward way Roy was carefully curled on his side, how painfully clear it was that he did not want to be touched...

The words of the terrorist returned to him now, the terrorist they'd caught who managed to lead them to searching this abandoned warehouse for Roy in the first place- how he'd muttered as a sort of offhand jab _it was fun, taking the colonel from behind..._

Sick bile rose to flood his mouth, and Maes jerked around, unable to stop the mess from spilling onto his sleeve. It was hot and disgusting, the sight and slimy feel in his throat doing nothing for his churning stomach, his head spinning with dizzying reality. Roy had been _raped._

 _Those fucking... monsters..._

"H-hurry it u-up, Maes."

Roy's bland jab filtered through as his head swam and he took in a shaky breath, trying to hold himself together. What was wrong with him?! He couldn't let Roy see this, see his dammed weakness in the face of blood, sickness, perversion; Roy had endured all of this alone, had had no _choice,_ but here he was, too weak to even bear witness to the damage after the fact? _No_. He had to keep himself together for Roy. Falling apart now was simply not an option. _Calm down..._ he told himself, breathing hard through his nose, _he's fine... calm down... he's fine... just breathe..._

The rope abruptly gave way, fraying to snap under his knife. Roy stammered a hiss from still chattering teeth, his hands chilled like ice; shaking his head to clear it, Maes pulled off his white shirt as well and laid it on top of the jacket, wishing he had Roy's black overcoat to add as well. Not only would it provide far more warmth and cover, it would also hide _that_ stain Maes was still trying very hard not to look at.

Roy gave him an unsure, sidelong glance, and Maes did his best force a smile. By the look on his friend's face, it came out warped and awful.

"You're still freezing, Roy."

"...Oh," was all he said to that.

His voice sounded dead.

Maes blinked hard for a moment, trying to stop the wetness he felt growing in his eyes and rubbing his face with his sleeve when that didn't work. His breaths were shaky as he stood for a moment, struggling to search for something more he could do. Something, _anything_ at all to make himself useful, _anything_ at all to distract and pull his eyes away from his best friend lying shaking and broken at his feet- but there was nothing.

Nothing at all but Roy.

It was the first time he'd really _looked_ at him, but now he couldn't stop, what had intended to be a passing glance now a horrified stare taking in everything he'd tried so very hard to just pass over until now. With his shirt and jacket being used as a makeshift blanket his torso was mostly hidden, but the massive purple and black swelling of a bruise against his ribcage was visible as well as a reddened bootprint lower on his belly, clearly very recent. The shuddering, pained breaths were the only other evidence he needed to confirm broken ribs, and Maes had already seen the black and blue swelling of malformed fingers to know his hands had been broken as well.

When his eyes traveled higher, they came upon a rainbow necklace of bruises chained around his neck, and the sight alone made his blood boil. They had strangled him. Those bastard had _strangled_ Roy. His face was even harder to look at than his throat; multicolored bruises at varying stages of swelling and healing disfiguring smiles into snarls and mischievous eyes into agonized ones.

He looked lost, in pain, and utterly miserable.

"S-see something y-you like?"

Maes jumped, blinking, his gaze jerked back to Roy's again. His voice was lighthearted but the look in his eyes, anything but, something darker than just irritation flickering there. That something darker jerked him out of sympathy, reminding him that Roy did not need it and that to give it now would not help. "Not unless your chest learned how to fill a sweater, Roy."

"Then s-stop s-s-staring."

It sounded like a snapped order, but the facade fell flat when he coughed blood again, and Maes' gut clenched. "Sorry," he mumbled, eyes lowering to the floor. Anything to get away from that dead stare that was black as blood. "I just... oh, Roy..."

"Y-you t-talk like you've never seen a black eye before... you pansy..."

 _Stop staring at me like that, Roy, just stop looking like that..._ "If I recall, actually, the first one I saw was my own. Which you had given to me, Roy."

"You t-tripped. _Tripped_ , Maes. You were drunk, and y-you _tripped."_

Maes sighed heavily, stepping back around Roy as he pulled his gun out again. His boots slapped into wet, crimson pools with a disgusting _squelch_ , and he tried not to feel cold blood soaking through leather and socks as he dropped down to sit next to his friend, leaving his weapon in his lap. "Yes, well, sorry to break it to you," he mumbled, "but you got a bit more than a black eye this time, Roy."

There was an awkward pause. "...I know," was the dry response at last, tired and hollow. The emptiness in his voice chilled him even further than the cold gun weighing reassuringly in his grip, and Maes looked towards the stubbornly empty hallway again. God help him, he _wanted_ more of the terrorists to show up. He _wanted_ more of those monsters that had done this to just dare to show their faces, so he could shoot them here and now and see them dead. God help him, the dark bloodlust _frightened_ him and he still wanted it to happen.

"...Don't s-suppose you got a w-weapon for m-me?"

Maes blinked, turning to look at Roy again. He heard the nearly unbridled hope, desperation, in the question, and knew the colonel wasn't asking for a gun. "Can you even snap your fingers?" he asked, taking a moment to steel himself against bloodlust before lowering a hand to his pocket.

Grimacing, Roy gingerly pulled one of his arms out from behind his back, currently laying on the other one and clearly not about to risk moving enough to free it as well. "Probably not," he admitted grudgingly, bruised and swollen fingers spasming weakly, and Maes somehow made himself smile again.

"Regardless, you're in luck."

Roy's eyes widened, and he stared reverently at the white and red ignition glove Maes held up between them.

The way he was looking at Maes now, almost like he was a god that had come bearing a beacon of shining hope in his darkest hour, made him distinctly uncomfortable, and he broke Roy's gaze quickly, looking down at his hand instead as he gave him the glove. "Just promise not to fry me on accident," he said quietly.

Roy's chuckle was grating and thick with blood that the colonel again spat out of his mouth. "You know m-me better than that, M-Maes."

Yes, Maes did know him well. He knew Roy well enough that he'd seen him, in some of his darkest moments, snapping at shadows without realizing until it was too late that he'd almost set something on fire. But Maes figured it was safe enough to risk it now... his friend seemed lucid enough, and the obvious sense of relief he'd gotten by sliding on his glove was surely worth any anxiety Maes was feeling, and besides, it was too late now. He couldn't very well take the gloves back after he'd seen the peace of mind they'd given him.

Or... perhaps that wasn't peace of mind after all. Maes watched carefully as Roy raised his one gloved hand, enraptured gaze transfixed on the warm thread of his array. Roy's little obsession with his gloves was hardly out of his normal, but Maes started to fear something was seriously wrong when a bloody smile took form, showing a missing tooth, and then split lips stretched even further, malformed grin painted on a macabre canvas. His eyes glinted.

"I can still snap," he murmured softly.

A quiet madness lurked there, something in his voice leaving Maes waiting very quietly and very still, holding his breath to see what would happen next.

"I... I can still snap."

The burst of a startled laugh made him jump again, grating, high-pitched hysteria sounding gruesome and cruel. "I can still snap!" Roy laughed again, glee contorting reason. "I... I can still..."

"Roy?"

Another laugh, and then another, Roy laughing until he coughed up blood and then still continuing, crimson laced chuckles torn out with each ragged breath. "I can still snap, Maes! Even if I can't walk, I can still snap! _Ha!"_

Maes stared at him in increasing alarm. Sure, a disturbingly positive outlook, but somehow he doubted that this was actually a good sign. "Yes, Roy," he said uneasily, holding very still. "That's... true."

"Ha _ha!_ I can't even _walk_ but don't worry, Maes, I can still snap!"

 _What?_ "Roy, hey, you don't know that, yet-"

"But it's true! It has to be! It will be!" Another maddened laugh that shook him down to his soul. "Because, delicious irony, Maes! I lose everything that I am as a man but _don't worry,_ because I can still kill people! I'll kill people from a bloody _wheelchair! HA!"_

This had gone far enough. "Roy!" Maes snapped, loud and commanding. He moved closer and grabbed at Roy's wrist, holding on even when the hysterical man hissed and black anger ignited in wild eyes. "Roy, stop it! Remember, you don't know about your legs yet, they could be _fine-"_

" _HA!_ I can't walk, Maes, _I can't walk, I can't walk-"_

"Hey, hey, Roy, come on, now," he begged, releasing the shaking wrist and palming Roy's cheek instead, trying to get frantic eyes to focus on his. "Look at me, Roy, come on, listen to me for a second here-"

"I can _snap!"_

"Roy, that's _enough!"_

Roy finally froze.

Taking a deep breath, Maes leaned back an inch but still held his gaze, choosing his words very carefully and leaving his hand against Roy's face. "Roy, listen to me. You have to calm down. You don't know that you're paralyzed. And even... even if you are," he swallowed, hard, but Roy desperate stare didn't waver in the slightest, "it'll be okay, Roy. I'll be with you through it all, okay?" He spoke as he would to Elicia, trying to calm and soothe his friend out of a state of panic, but this time the nightmare wasn't something that would be gone in the morning. It wasn't just to calm Roy anymore; Maes spoke to keep his own panic at bay, too- but he was beginning to worry it just was not working.

"You'll be all right, Roy," he said softly, gently thumbing over his cheek. "You've just got to stay calm for a little longer, okay? Try and relax for now, take a deep breath, that's it..."

Roy was still trembling, and he shook his head once, swollen cheek pressing against Maes' hand. The breath was unsteady, nervous madness cooling to nervous terror, and Maes tried to stay calm, his mind racing. It was clear Roy wasn't going to be able to hold himself together for much longer. But what words could he even offer? Another halfbaked assurance it was all going to be okay? It wasn't. Another promise that he wasn't paralyzed? Not helping at all, not when he didn't know that for sure. Swearing he'd be with him through this? Yeah, and his point was? If he was paralyzed from the waist down, no hand on his shoulder was going to help.

But he had to say _something,_ because this was his _best friend,_ this was _Roy_ and Maes was not going to sit here and let him suffer alone.

When words came, Maes just opened his mouth and started talking. He didn't know why he said what he did. It was out of place and jarring and made little sense, and it wasn't something that could be used to comfort at all, but he said it, and when Roy just stared at him and did not delve further into panic, he kept on going without thought.

"You missed Elicia's birthday, Roy."

Dead silence.

Black eyes slowly blinked at him, panic held just barely back at last by a tentative, hesitant surprise.

"...Excuse me?"

Maes nodded. "You missed Elicia's birthday. It was two weeks ago."

Still no panic.

"...Well, I'm sorry," Roy mumbled at length, still staring at him. "I suppose I should've just broken out on my own to make it on time, then?"

"I would have."

Again, he didn't know why he'd said it, but again, Roy did not react unfavorably. The colonel just looked at him, breaths still a little unsteady, held motionless by the insanity of it all. "That's because your crazy," he said at length, voice soft, and Maes somehow laughed.

"Come on, don't say that, Roy. The only crazy man is a father who doesn't love his daughter." He withdrew carefully, gently and slowly pulling his hand back away from Roy's cheek. Roy didn't react violently at the touch, still twitching unsurely but clearly reigning himself in this time, and Maes managed a weak smile. "But, not to worry, Roy. You may have missed the party, but, I took lots of pictures!"

"Oh... thank god for that, then..."

He looked resigned, and somehow that familiar defeat heartened him. "Yes, yes. Whine all you want; I know you secretly love them. And who wouldn't? Who _wouldn't_ love pictures of my dear Elicia?"

The chuckle was grating and agonized, and hurt Maes more to hear it than if the man had been crying. "Mmm, yes... the party, then? Don't tell me... another princess theme."

"Whatever my princess wants, Roy, she will get." Maes swallowed, struggling to continue on. He did not miss the irony. Any day of the week and he'd be able to talk about his family for hours, but _now,_ when it was suddenly all he could do, it became harder than words could express. What was he supposed to say? That he'd ducked in and out of the party, half the night spent playing with his daughter, the other half trying not to cry because his best friend wasn't there and was only a few more days missing away from being declared dead? That Roy's staff had stayed long after the children had been put to bed, festivities turning into drinks that were none too joyous or celebratory and had served to just further depress everyone present? Oh, _yes._ That would certainly make Roy feel better.

"Elicia was upset you weren't there," he said thickly, voice shaking. "We've not told her you were missing, of course. Just that her dear old Uncle Roy had been called away to the east on military business and you hadn't been able to make it back in time. ...She spent at least ten minutes standing by the phone, hoping you'd at least call."

Roy's weak chuckle was punctuated by another bloody cough, and his tired eyes flickered for a moment. "You spoiled her. Calling to talk to her anytime you had to work late... build up those standards this high now and no man'll ever meet them."

Maes shuddered at the very idea of it. "No man will ever need to meet them! Elicia's too good for any of them! I'm not letting _any_ man date her, _ever!"_

"Oh... I'm sure she'll appreciate that as a teenager..."

There was something that felt decidedly _wrong_ , about speaking his daughter's name and picturing her beautiful smile when sitting on the bloody floor in this cold, underground cell, his best friend next to him, broken and suffering. Elicia was innocent and pure, what had happened to Roy was anything but, and it felt almost as if he was risking his daughter by bringing her into this darkness.

Roy coughed again, distressed and painful.

"K-keep... keep talking, Maes," he whispered.

And he did.

Presents, cake, children's laughter, and the explosion of pink. Scieszka playing the role of the blushing princess and a very flustered Ed as a midget prince, Al transmuting a little play princess castle and Roy's staff even playing along whenever Elicia turned to them. His apartment turned into banners of lavender and little tiaras made of steel (courtesy of Ed), and how Elicia couldn't stop beaming the entire night until her brilliantly pink birthday had been set out and she'd seen the brilliantly pink candles were still unlit.

"You promised you'd light the candles for her, remember that, Roy? Remember that, huh?" He leaned a little closer, trying to meet glazed eyes. "You made her so upset, Roy!"

"...'M sorry..."

The drawled exhaustion made his heart skip another beat. "But... but you know what, Roy? It's okay. Because, Ed? He saved the day."

"...The shrimp...?"

Maes smiled, somehow. "Wasn't as flashy as you. He had to draw out a transmutation circle, needed a lighter, and ended up setting off the smoke alarm, but Ed lit the candles, Roy."

"...The shrimp...?" he asked again. His voice wavered and eyes glazed with the slightest hint of disorientation.

"The very one and only. Seemed he'd been studying fire alchemy for a little while to try and show you up, but gave up when he realized how difficult it was. But I guess he didn't want Elicia to be disappointed so he went back to one of those textbooks and managed to figure out how to light five candles."

It had been so brilliant, the light in Elicia's eyes so heartwarming, the sadness in Ed's when his daughter had cried that he was even better than her Uncle Roy. Just five flickering little flames that had made Elicia's night. To remember it now made him smile against sorrow, and he wondered idly just how long he could continue to force himself to smile for.

"...That's a very simple alchemic reaction," Roy muttered at last, sounding slighted. "All he had to do was manipulate the flow of oxygen a little."

"Worried Ed's going to usurp you as the authority on all things Flame Alchemy, Roy?"

"Maes, that's just mean," Roy mumbled, and when Maes looked to him he saw the man's eyes were closed again, swollen features slowly calming. "You're m-my friend. W-why are you... being mean..."

Alarm prickled at the back of his mind, and he risked reaching out a hand, leaving it hovering over the man's shoulder. "Roy? _Roy,_ stay awake, buddy."

Roy twitched, exhausted eyes flickering open again in muted surprise. He shook his head a few times, still seeming a little out of it and disoriented but he was still awake, at least, and Maes watched as the colonel struggled to clear his throat and stay focused. "S-so? That's... it?"

"Mmm?"

Roy's eyes slid shut again, but Maes could tell he wasn't dropping off into sleep. "You just told me an Elicia story. With no pictures. ...You're sc-scaring me, Maes."

When Maes laughed, he had to stop hysteria from tinging into the sound, his own grasp on calm slipping with every minute. "Oh... you wanted pictures? You should've just said so!" he exclaimed weakly, voice bright with a false excitement, and he reached up towards his chest pocket, withdrawing a stack. He shifted closer to Roy, since Roy could hardly move closer to him, and leaned down awkwardly, showing the first to him. "Here's one of Elicia and her cake. Isn't she cute, Roy? Look at how big she's smiling!"

"...Yeah..." he mumbled tiredly, bloodied lips shifting into a weak smile.

"And here's the piece she insisted we cut for you, in case you could make it in time. Gracia's promised to make a piece for you when you get back home, Roy."

"...Looking forward to it..."

Maes flipped to the third picture, raising his voice again. "Oi, don't fall asleep, Roy, it's insulting. Come on; you know you want to see my pictures."

The colonel roused a fraction, blinking tired eyes open once again and clearly making an effort to focus. Maes showed him the third picture, explaining even as his voice broke and his resolve began to fail him. "See, here's Elicia opening presents- that one's Ed and Al's, they transmuted a stuffed bunny for her out of her homework for the night. Her _homework,_ Roy. How'd they even turn paper into a stuffed bunny, huh? And why her _homework?!_ Why not my paperwork instead?"

Roy mumbled something tiredly at him, another slow swell of blood trickling from his lips even as his grim mouth became the faintest of smiles. His gloved hand slipped from being clenched against his chest to land gently against Maes' arm, and something about the easy contact made his heart skip a beat in joy and sorrow all at once.

"And, s-see, here's... here's another one, Roy. L-look, it's the new dress I bought f-for E-Elicia." Damn it, now he was stammering, too, words stumbling as he shook and didn't quite understand why. "Isn't she b-beautiful?"

Again, his only response was a tired mumble, this even more distant than before. The exhaustion terrified him, somehow, the sight of Roy slipping away into his own personal darkness bringing alarm to rise again. Roy's eyes began to flicker shut as he slowly, agonizingly, gave in to pain and fatigue, and Maes clenched his jaw against fear. "Hey, Roy, don't do that. No, no Roy, stay with me. Just a little longer, Roy." He turned his arm over to clasp Roy at the wrist, the colonel's injured, gloved hand still lying gingerly over his, and squeezed as tightly as he dared. "Roy, Roy... come on, I promised Elicia you'd make up missing her birthday to her, you know how mad she'll be at you if you fall asleep now? _Come on,_ Roy!"

Slowly, so many seconds later Maes had gone cold with terror, one heavy-lidded, bloodshot eye cracked open. His voice was so weak it wavered in and out of audibility, but even when he coughed again and blood splattered Maes' chest, he couldn't bring himself to tell Roy to stop talking.

"...horrible... daughter... guilt trip..."

To laugh felt like he was breaking, and he hurt down to his soul. "Yes. I'm horrible. I'm saving your life, and _I'm_ horrible."

Roy's smile shifted, cracking with composure. "...Yes, Maes," he whispered at last, and water welled in his one open eye. "You're horrible." A flicker of blinks and tears broke, rolling down grimy, bloody cheeks. "...Thanks, Maes."

Damn it, now his eyes were stinging, too. How did Roy always have this effect on him? Follow the leader, and the colonel was the leader, follow behind him into despair and breakdown... "D-don't thank me, yet. I've still got more pictures, Roy."

They sat together in the dark, Maes painstakingly whispering through the explanation of each and every picture, both shaking, both gasping, both crying, until backup and medics came.

Maes still held onto his hand as the medics moved him expertly to a stretcher, immobilizing his legs and spine with the straps, talking over their muttered worries to spell Roy into a world of Elicia's birthday. He talked the whole way out of the facility, and in the ambulance he talked, too, shoving picture after picture before Roy's shut eyes and talking long after slack features had stopped responding to him.

He didn't stop talking until the doctors at the hospital took him away, and he was left to stand there numbly in the middle of the hallway, watching the doors of the trauma wing swing slowly shut. Very cold, inside and out, Maes rubbed absently at wet cheeks, staring after his friend, then pulled his hand away, looking at the picture held between shaking fingers.

It was of Elicia standing sadly by the phone, head bowed, two little hands tightly wrapped tightly around the cord as she waited for a call that would not come.

A splatter of blood from Roy's throat obscured his daughter's face.

Maes sobbed.


	2. Wedding Ring

AND THERE'S A CONTINUATION LOOK AT THAT. and then EVEN MORE TO COME!

This is now a series of connected oneshots :) because they're oneshots, they're not prewritten, so updates will probably take a while. This isn't going to go on forever; I do have an end in mind and a general sort of plot sketched out. Anyway. The only pairings are some mentioned Royai and obligatory MaesxGracia. Focus is still Maes Roy friendship. Anywho~

* * *

When he woke up, it was to many voices around him, each delving into an aura of tension and urgency that blanketed him as securely as a grandmother's quilt. He heard Riza and he heard Maes, and rolled his head closer towards them, moaning in bleary, deluded agony.

The voices stopped. Then:

"Is he awake?" Tense and nervous. _Riza, dear, do try to not worry so much... it really doesn't suit you._

"I don't know." Stillness, then a hand very gently jostling his shoulder; he could feel the wedding ring even through the sleeve of his shirt. "Roy?"

"Ngh... s-stop..." _Quit moving me, Maes, that HURTS..._

The hand remained on his shoulder for a moment, then pulled back, leaving him floating alone in a sea of misery. "Get a nurse," he heard someone say quietly, then, "Roy, it's okay. Everything's fine. You're just..."

Whatever else there was was lost as he drifted away, swaying until he was seasick and then swaying some more as he was swept under further still. Maes kept talking to him, he was sure of it, but whatever the words were they were muted and inaudible underneath the storm and the sea.

Figured. He'd always hated the ocean.

* * *

Riza was there, again.

She loomed over him, the darkness of his cell lit sparklingly bright by the raging fire on her back. The flames cast the stains his blood had left into a ruby glow and she smiled at him, face golden in the light, and leaned down to touch him.

Her fingers sizzled into his skin like another cigarette and he reeled back, shouting in alarm. Riza, he tried to tell her, Riza, something's wrong- but his mouth wouldn't work and she laughed at him, burning hands gripping his shoulders to hold him down when he tried to back away again. "Why so frightened, Colonel?" she asked him, voice rippling and singing over the crackle of his flames. "Don't you want this?" Her fingers slid down from his shoulders to his chest, and then downwards still, leaving trails of burning shame and horror in their wake only to rest just above his hip, one sliding to unfasten the button of his pants. "Don't you want this? I know you do..."

Her fingers moved downwards yet again and she laughed when he jerked back, her smile that was small and lovely becoming huge and cruel. "Come on, why so afraid, Colonel? Is your womanizing reputation really all just for show? Quite a shame... this might only be fun for me, then."

Riza- Riza- _please stop-_ Riza Riza _Riza-_

His fire exploded. They overtook Riza first, flaming wings stretching from her back to wrap around her and set her all alight and then crawled onto him, devouring from head to toe until Riza kept laughing but he didn't even have a mouth with which to scream-

White. Suddenly it was just white. White white white. White everywhere. Darkness and fire were gone and now it was white everywhere, but he was still burning and there was still lacked the strength to even scream for help that was not coming.

Her fingers came back. But they were like ice instead of fire this time, gently trailing over his brow and leaving behind a soothing coldness that sunk through the flames that tried to ebb at it. "-to relax, sir-" She was talking, quietly but firmly in what was her way- "-you're very ill. You need to relax, sir. Try and lie still."

No, no, no... _not right..._ He tried to pull away but her hands were unrelenting, and then she was chastising him for trying to move. He wished he could find the strength to ask her what was happening, because he didn't understand any of it. Why had she done this? Why had she hurt him? He knew he deserved it, she wouldn't hurt him unless he'd done something wrong, and wished dearly he could remember just so he could apologize, but he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember and he didn't know anything, just that everything hurt and his skin crawled and all he wanted was for everything to stop.

Her cold fingers retreated for a moment, withdrawing from his face only to land on his hand instead. "Hughes, I think he needs more medication. He's upset..."

Hughes? _Hughes?_ What was he doing there? For that matter, what was Riza? He groaned, trying to pull his hand away from hers, get their attention; they had to run, had to _leave,_ they weren't safe, but she wouldn't let go...

"R-Rizaaa... Maes..."

Now there were fingers against his face again. Not cold, like Riza's. They lay flat over his forehead and he felt the edge of a wedding ring again. "I think you're right... he feels warmer than before. I'll go find his doctor again."

Then he was gone, and all that remained was Riza.

So cold. So, so cold...

She spoke to him again, but the words faded underneath the fire, and he was lost in the dark again long before Maes came back.

* * *

"...just wanted to say sorry. For messing up. We should've put it together sooner..."

"Brother's right. If we'd just remembered about the rebels sooner, then maybe the colonel wouldn't be... well..."

Ed and Al. Ed and Al? Why were they here, too? What had happened to Riza? Maes?

Had they been captured, too?

Reckless idiots. Reckless _idiots._

"Listen to me, boys: this isn't anyone's fault, least of all yours. Trust me, Roy'll say the same thing."

"But..."

Idiots; why weren't they running? It wasn't safe! It wasn't _safe! Idiots!_

It took all his strength, dragging his eyes open, but he fought past the fatigue anyway, straining and searching. The instant he found them he sucked in a breath, trying to talk, then bucked as it caught in his dry throat and he coughed and gagged, choking.

Almost instantly there were hands on him; he fought them off, flailing away in a panic. "R- _run!"_ he gasped, hacking out the command the moment he'd grabbed enough air to do it. _"RUN! Get out of here! NOW!"_

But they weren't listening to him. They were just standing there staring at him like he _wasn't_ giving them a direct order. Fucking _brat;_ Fullmetal never listened. He could never, just for once in his midget life, _listen. "RUN!"_ he screamed again, shoving back the hands and straining to sit up. "That's an order! _Run! Get out of here! NOW!"_

"C- Colonel..."

" _What are you doing?! RUN! They'll- they'll k-kill you-"_

He coughed again, this time tasting blood with it. He spat it out without heed and kept on, now shouting through a mouthful of blood even as he was held back and forced down again. _"You idiots, get out of here! Get out of here! Leave me behind; they'll kill you! GO!"_

Ed just stared at him, looking so deeply disturbed it ached. Then suddenly he was shouting for help, and what a damn idiot he was, he was _trying_ to _help them,_ couldn't he see that? He was trying to help; why wouldn't they fucking listen?!

But Ed didn't listen, because he never did. Ed bolted forward when he tried to sit up again, coughing and pointing violently for him to run when his voice failed him, the brat holding him down and shouting at him to calm down. Calm down?! All he was doing was getting the brat to safety- if he would just fucking _listen-!_

"Roy, it's okay! Come on, listen to me, will you? It's going to be all right!"

" _Run, Ed! You goddamn fool, GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!"_

Ed somehow looked even more frightened than before, which just made no _sense;_ there was nothing to fear unless he stayed and let those men take him, but he wasn't tied down, he wasn't held back, _he_ had two perfectly good legs with which to run, so why the fuck wasn't he?!

The hands pressed down even harder on his shoulders, refusing to give him freedom. "Ed, you're just making it worse! Get out of here, go find a doctor!"

Amber eyes widened with anger and stubborn defiance. "But he's-"

"Do it now!"

A heartbeat later, and then Ed and Al were gone, and he was finally abandoned in the darkness to die.

Wait. Wait, no. This wasn't what he wanted. He wanted them safe no matter the cost even if it was his life, but now that they were gone- _wait-_ he wanted to go with them; _don't leave me here, please god don't leave me here... wait, Ed..._ he was so scared again, suddenly so scared he couldn't breathe- _don't leave me alone-_

"Roy! Come on, just listen to me for a second!" A firm hand caught the fist he flailed out in panic, holding his arm and forcing it back down as he writhed and fought, desperately trying to worm away.

 _No no no, don't touch me, please, please don't touch me, I swear I don't know anything please-_

"Roy, it's okay! You're safe now, it's all right... please just calm down, it's going to be okay..."

"S-stop! _Stop it!_ _Get off of me! Let me go, LET ME GO!"_

"Roy..."

Then there were more people surrounding him, holding him down, touching him, and he screamed, thrashing and fighting. A prick met his shoulder and he cried out again, trying to draw back but there was just nowhere, _nowhere,_ to run...

Suddenly there was exhaustion, muscles melting like butter and becoming traitorous jelly. Suddenly his head was spinning and he couldn't help but sink back, reeling and gasping. Suddenly he was defenseless, weak and pathetic, and he couldn't stop them... he couldn't...

"Roy, please..."

"S-stop," he heard himself beg, but the words slurred and he swayed as his brain fogged, dragging him back, back, back. "Stop... just... p-please..." He couldn't stop them now... he couldn't fight back... they were going to hurt him again, do things to him again, and now he couldn't stop it, but he could never never never stop it, and...

"Oh, Roy... I'm so sorry..." The hand holding him down became a gentle touch on his arm now, so light he could barely feel it as his body sank deeper and deeper away while his soul felt lighter and lighter, drifting away. "Roy..."

...

Oh.

There was that wedding ring again.

In the hand on his arm- there it was.

 _Oh._

His head swam, but he somehow managed to drag his eyes open one last time, staring through the haze towards the blurry form by his side. Oh. "M... Mmmmaes..."

Piercing green eyes found his, in them a concern and terror so real it almost didn't look like his friend. Maes said something, he wasn't sure what, and he was dragged underneath again, this time powerless to stop it.

He kept talking even as the darkness claimed him again, and while he still didn't know what was said, the words soothed him, and he listened to them until he couldn't hear anything but the screams in his head.

* * *

The wedding ring was back.

He was tired but couldn't sleep. He was scared but couldn't move. Why couldn't he move? Oh. They'd taken his legs. Right. Taken everything. He was scared. Was he dying? Was he finally dying? Was it finally over?

Wedding-ring-hand rubbed his arm gently. "Shh, it's okay. Go back to sleep, Roy."

Sleep? He'd been sleeping? Had he said something? He didn't know...

Maes' hand held him still. "It's okay," he said again, and because he was Maes, even though Roy didn't know anything else, he believed him. "Go back to sleep for now, Roy." And because he was Maes, Roy listened to him even though he knew, understood, nothing, and he closed his eyes and faded.

The wedding ring stayed.

* * *

He breathed in deeply and out again, relishing the stabbing pain in his chest the motion brought, because it meant he was alive, and sighed.

His surroundings felt different.

His mind felt different- clearer, now. His clothes were different- new, not dripping with blood, not torn to shreds. He felt different- warm rather than freezing, almost uncomfortably so. His body felt different- a muted, stifled, healing sort of pain rather than the raw agony of injuries inflicted and left to fester. The silence was gone, replaced by the irritating, constant noise of a hospital.

He paused for a moment, listening to the anomalies and taking in the newness of it all. Safer to keep his eyes shut, he decided blithely. Safer, yes. He remembered Maes... and it certainly all _felt_ real... but he also remembered many other things. Things he'd rather not. The mind was a powerful thing, and this would not be the first time he'd convinced himself of a rescue mission that was, in all likelihood, not happening.

Yes... safer to just feign sleep for now, let himself forget about this dream and lose himself in another nightmare... safest...

"Roy?"

He stiffened.

Quiet enough to not wake him if he had still been asleep... confident enough to know the speaker expected an answer.

"...How'd you know I was awake?" he grumbled at length, somehow managing to croak the annoyance out from a dry mouth and a split lip. His throat hurt. He left his eyes closed.

There was a quiet, exhausted chuckle, and then: "I was your roommate back in the Academy, remember? I've seen you try and fake sleep before. You really suck at it, Roy."

Huh.

Interesting.

"...You suck at it," he grumbled back, slitting an eye open to glare. The hospital room looked just as it should have, right down to the addition of one Maes Hughes by his side, and he glared at him harder, searching for some inaccuracy or sign that this was false.

Maes offered him a slight grin. "Mature," he commented dryly. He looked very tired and strained, like he hadn't slept well for days, shoulders slumped and eyes shadowed with the exhaustion of more than just one late night. The book in his lap was shut with a quiet snap and he leaned forward slightly, eyes dark with concern.

He didn't like that concern, so he looked away.

"...You've been a little out of it for a couple of days," Maes hedged, seeming uneasy with the quiet. "So, I wouldn't be surprised if you were confused right now. Your fever was pretty high. You were delirious... you probably don't remember much. But it finally broke last night... you seem better now. How're you feeling?"

Roy frowned. Normally, delusions, hallucinations, and their ilk did not last this long. He'd never made it to this question before, most likely because it bothered him and it annoyed him to answer. Either he had _completely, utterly lost his mind,_ or...

So, this was real, then.

Huh.

"Roy?"

The incongruous, incredulity of it all formed an exhausted smile, and he tilted his head a little, beaming at his friend. "Hey, Maes," he greeted, head spinning with woozy delight, and when that only heightened the concern in his eyes, he almost laughed out loud.

"...Hello," he said back, frowning and clearly uneasy. This time Roy actually did have to suppress a chuckle, and it _hurt,_ his sore chest screaming and surely broken ribs upset with the effort, but the pain was so far from what he was used to he couldn't take it, and he actually _did_ laugh.

Hell, he thought, shaking through intermittent waves of pain and ecstatic chuckles while his best friend watched on in abject alarm, maybe he really _had_ lost his mind.

"Roy? Are you okay?"

He chuckled again through gritted teeth, rolling his head over to meet his eyes, too shaky to give any thoughts towards sitting up. "I imagine so," he laughed. "How could I not be, really? I assume if I was still trying to bleed to death you'd be doing something about other than asking if I was okay, wouldn't you?"

Maes looked even more alarmed than before. "Ah... well, yeah..." he mumbled, still staring at him with wide eyes.

Roy laughed again, trembling with the hysteria of it all. He took in a breath and tried to steady himself, some small part of him aware he was frightening Maes, but he just couldn't stop. He was tired and in pain and shaken and afraid, and there was nothing funny at all, but he was just entirely overwhelmed and didn't have the strength to make himself shut up. _"Am_ I okay?" he rasped after a moment, gasping the words out between laughs and still grinning like an idiot. "Maes?"

His friend hesitated, eyes guarded, form tense and wary. "Yeah... well, not at the moment, really. But you will be fine, Roy."

"Oh?" The violence of the next chuckle had him trembling and gasping with the pain of it, smiling all the while. "Fine?" But, he couldn't _really_ be fine... He could still remember, very well, just how it had felt when the bat had came down on his spine. _Something_ had broken, then. He knew how broken bones felt and that was exactly what it had felt like. So how could he possibly be fine?

Maes knew, without him needing to say it, because he was Maes, and just too damn perceptive for his own good. "Yes. You're fine, Roy. Even your legs, I promise."

The impossibility of it just made him laugh even harder. What? How was _that_ even remotely possible? It wasn't; it couldn't be. He'd forced himself to accept his legs were as good as dead weeks ago. Weeks? Better to accept reality than hope and fight it; he'd learned that long ago. He'd accepted reality a long time ago; how dare Maes sit there and tell him he was wrong? Another trembling laugh ripped its way out and he looked down at himself, chortling and gasping at the sight. He looked awful. He looked thin and weak. He looked bandaged and bruised. He looked defeated and broken.

Roy let his gaze linger on his useless- not useless?- legs for a moment, impossibly still and hidden underneath layers of blankets. Useless, useless, useless... that was what they were, that was what he had _made_ himself accept... but... but Maes said they weren't, and he didn't think Maes would lie...

"Roy? Are you okay?"

There; that question again. That question he couldn't answer.

He laughed at Maes, laughing so hard tears welled in his eyes, tears that he didn't even understand. He was overwhelmed, it was the drugs, it was the fatigue, he was in pain... whatever the reason, he found himself laughing his stupid, beaten head off and suddenly crying his eyes out along with it, spitting out chuckles in between heaved sobs, and the for the first time since he'd felt the bones in his spine break, he no longer cared about the despair failure would bring and he tried to move his legs.

It hurt. Breathlessly, agonizingly. It _hurt._ And it was hard. Harder than it should have been. Something _was_ wrong with them, no matter what Maes had said.

But he saw, _felt,_ them jerk, twitch, and that, that right there, was just more than he could take.

He howled with laughter.

And he kept on doing it when Maes' hand found his arm, barely feeling the light pressure, barely registering the outright concern in his eyes as he tossed his head back and _laughed._ He laughed until he choked with the force of it, until he couldn't breathe, until he couldn't tell if the noises coming out of his mouth were hysterical laughs or hysterical sobs.

He laughed as Maes gently coaxed him upright, knowing his friend was saying something, trying to calm him down, but hearing none of it. He laughed at the arm that slowly came around his shoulders, as carefully and gently as if he was glass about to break. Maybe he was. He laughed when he felt Maes start shaking. That was his weakness, you know. He cared too much. Felt his friends' pain as if it was his own. Such a stupid thing for such a smart man to do. Stupid, _stupid_ Maes.

He laughed as Maes took him by the shoulders and held him at arms' length, eyes piercing and miserably sad. He laughed in his face as Maes shook him a little, as if trying to get him to look at him and focus.

Laughed, when he said, "It's all right, Roy."

That was all he said. And Roy laughed, again. Laughed right in his face.

Laughed, until he felt the wedding ring.

His breath caught, and laughter choked into stunned silence.

And when Maes again pulled him forward into a firm, unyielding embrace, and his shoulders started shaking, his hitched breaths started breaking from chuckles into sobs, and he hid streaming eyes in the shoulder of his friend's uniform...

He told himself he was still laughing, and Maes, being a better friend than Roy had ever deserved, didn't say anything to the contrary.


	3. Patched Back Together

So, my document for this thing is 30k words and counting, if that lets you know how much I ramble on for this fic without producing anything worth posting. This thing will _never_ be on a coherent update schedule, and I apologize. But still, thank you all so much for reviewing! Every one that I get inspires me to come back and write more :)

* * *

Roy would have given nearly anything, to simply _not exist_ in this moment.

It was long. It was unbearable. It was terrible. It was, quite simply, intolerable. He pressed his eyes shut, exhaling a deep, shuddering breath that did exactly nothing to calm him or the nauseating spin of terror in his stomach, and again wished with everything he had for some sort of magic array to just lift him the hell out of this conversation and put him _anywhere_ else.

He actually thought he'd prefer his old cell to this.

"You're saying..." he gritted out slowly, "that it is broken. But that I'm also fine."

Across from him, he could hear the doctor shuffle through his file. "Yes, Colonel."

The vein in his forehead pulsed, and he had to swallow so much itching irritation he almost had to scream. "That doesn't make any _sense."_

There was another shuffle of papers, and- and a chuckle. A god damn _chuckle._

That little shit. That _ass._ This was one of the most important conversations of his life and he wasn't even taking it seriously enough to not turn it into some kind of fucking _joke-_ that son of a _bitch_ was going to get it from him, he'd-

"Roy," Maes said quietly, and one strong hand came out of nowhere to land soothingly on his arm.

He bit his tongue, forced out another long, shuddering breath, and tried very, very hard to keep his calm.

There was an awkward pause, and then Dr. Chuckles continued. "Colonel, I understand your concern. However, popular culture is misleading you a bit, here; a spinal fracture does not mean you're paralyzed. Far from it, actually. It-"

"I can't _feel_ them," he gasped, and suddenly his eyes have been wrenched open and he was staring desperately at him, a gasp past gritted teeth like it was dragged out of him. "What do you mean I'm not paralyzed?! The only time I can even feel anything at all is it when it hurts, and even that- most of the time it's _nothing-"_

" _Roy,"_ Maes cautioned again, and this time there was a hint of steel in it, the hand on his arm tightening in silent reproach. Roy jerked with the motion, irritation bridling again; as far as he was concerned, Maes could _shut the fuck up_ lecturing him like a misbehaving kid, now was not the time to reign him in, now was _not_ the god damn time-

Maes' green eyes, hard behind his glasses, met his, and his rage deflated like a balloon being popped.

The oppressive terror that replaced it, expanding inside him just so until his chest was crushed so tight he couldn't breathe, made him miss the rage.

Once again, Dr. Chuckles gave him several moments, and once again, Roy shut his eyes rather than watch his face when the prognosis continued.

"It's understandable that things don't feel as you'd expect them too," he went on gently. "Two vertebrae are fractured, and x-rays showed some swelling. Swelling compresses nerves, and nerves control both movement and sensation. Swelling is also temporary, Colonel. That you feel anything at all, even pain, is a _good_ sign."

Roy shut his eyes again, breathing hard through his mouth, and battled the growing urge to throw the shit out of his room and never deal with this again.

He heard the doctor stand and his breath caught in his chest, painful and terrified all over again. He knew what was coming now and suddenly found himself not even capable of opening his eyes. Once again, he'd had given anything he had to simply not do this. He didn't want to do this, he didn't want to endure this, he- he wanted to go _home,_ this-

"Can you feel this?" the doctor asked, and his breath caught again.

No. No, he couldn't.

"N... no."

His voice, meant to come out as steady- he was a colonel, colonel _fucking_ flame alchemist, to panic like this was so far beneath him it was dirt beneath his shoe- croaked out at least an octave too high, cracking over fear, and the beginnings of humiliated shame twisted in his gut alongside terror.

He couldn't feel it. He hadn't felt _anything._ He wouldn't have had any idea he was being touched if he hadn't asked that question.

Automail- if he couldn't feel anything, he couldn't even get automail, could he? If the nerves didn't connect anymore, there was nothing anyone could do. He couldn't- Roy gasped, panic driving the breath from him like a sledgehammer to the chest. He couldn't... every piece of his dreams began to shatter around him, leaving him alone in a world of broken glass and ruined ideals. He was paralyzed. He couldn't walk. Fuhrer, Ishval, democracy- suddenly he felt it slipping out of his grasp, could almost physically _feel_ it falling through his fingers, everything that he was was gone, everything that he'd _worked_ for- oh, god, he wasn't even a man anymore-!

Next to him, Maes' hand tightened on his arm again.

"Do you feel this?" the doctor asked once more, and once more, he didn't.

Strong, warm fingers gripped his own, and the pain in his broken hand was far more than worth it.

Slowly, he turned his head in a mute shake.

The interview, each crushing second of it, dragged on, and Roy left his eyes closed. Many times the answer was no. No, he couldn't feel this. No, he couldn't feel that. No, he couldn't move his toes. No, no.

Occasionally, the answer was yes.

Those times, he felt it through spikes of pain, sharp stabs up his thighs, splintering his ankles, exploding in his back. He'd never been so relieved to hurt.

Finally, the doctor finished, and he was at last able to open his eyes, squinting at the return of light and swallowing at the way Maes looked at him now. Uncertain, worried, anxious... pitying. Shivering, Roy yanked his gaze away from him to the doctor, who, fitting with his earlier levity, was smiling again, making a notation on his chart.

"Just as well as I'd expected," he was saying, and Roy's stomach lurched again. "I realize this may not have been as encouraging as you'd have liked, but you still have sensation and at this point, that's as good a sign as we can hope for."

"How _dare-"_

"R- _oy,"_ Maes cut in again harshly, a rebuke in words alone, and it took all of his self control this time to not turn and snap at _him_ instead.

How dare he? How dare them _both?_ How dare that doctor stand there and smile and tell him, with legs that he could barely move or feel and that felt as dead as doornails that this was a _good sign,_ and how dare Maes sit there and judge him like that, chastise him like a misbehaving child? He was sick of it- sick of them both!

Roy gritted his teeth, restraining the tongue-lashing by force of will alone, and a Herculean force of will at that. He breathed in deeply, refusing to allow himself to wince, and kept his gaze steady this time as he looked between the two of them, Dr. Chuckles and his god damned best friend.

"What," he asked, in a voice so flat and cold it chilled himself, "is the prognosis, then?"

Thankfully, Dr. Chuckles or not, the man still retained some sense of professionalism, because his answer came quickly, and it was a smaller smile that he was pretty sure was supposed to be reassuring. "For now, we just wait. It'll take a little bit of time for the swelling to go down, and then some more hard work on your part to rebuild the damaged nerves."

"What's the _prognosis?"_ he repeated icily, frustration pulsing in him like a wound. "Just how much better am I supposed to get? Am I going to be-" The words caught in his throat and he hit silence, heart hammering, stammering over the horrible reality that he suddenly couldn't say aloud. Was this something that was just going to end up as a bad memory, and in a few months he'd be back at work, patrolling the streets and fit and ready for war? Was he going to end up with a medical discharge, on his feet perhaps but not fit enough for military service? A fate he once would've taken as one almost worse than death, but now...

Now, Roy thought he'd be almost breathlessly relieved to hear that one.

It was still miles than his worst fear. The one he knew, as his legs alternately throbbed and felt horrifyingly _numb,_ unresponsive to nearly all his attempts to move them, was still a very real possibility.

Was he going to end up in a god dammed wheelchair, incapable and unable and left behind and _worthless?_

Was this _it_ for the rest of his life?

There was an uncomfortable pause when he trailed off into nothing, mouth dry and impossible words gone and heart pounding harder with every beat of uncertainty. Maes, for once, seemed just as uncomfortable as he was, perfectly silent by his side- and the doctor, too, went quiet for one long, horrible moment.

"I can't say, Colonel," he told him at last. "That's the unfortunate nature of injuries like this. It's impossible to say how far you'll recover until you've gone through the rehab. I think you still have a lot of improvement ahead of you, and I've seen people with worse injuries than yours make a full recovery- but, and I'm saying this to be honest with you, Colonel, I've also seen a few with injuries less severe, who didn't." The doctor hesitated in the impossible silence, watching him, Maes perfectly still beside him, Roy's heart busy being strangled into a beaten, mangled chew toy. "I figured you'd appreciate honesty, instead of sugarcoating, sir."

Roy bit the inside of his cheek, clenching his jaw to keep himself silent until he could deliver something that wasn't a scathing diatribe or, perhaps, worse, a scream to get the hell out of his room. He could feel Maes tense a little, like he was expecting to have to try and stop the latter, and somehow this annoyed him enough to keep silent, because _screw him_ for acting like he had to be taken care of like that. "Honesty appreciated," he gritted out once he could speak steadily, and it wasn't even a lie.

The doctor gave him another slight smile, but this time, it was far more welcome, because it accompanied the man standing up, hands clasped behind his back and patient file now shut. "We're going to give you a few more days, to recover, before we start trying to do a little rehab. For now, there's nothing you can do but focus on healing." He nodded to him, then Maes, smiling to them both, then started to backtrack to the door- only to turn back upon reaching it.

"I know none of this is what you want to hear right now, but statistics are on your side, Colonel," he said quietly.

Then, finally exited the room.

It was perfectly silent again. Roy stared at the shut door, heart pounding furiously, then down to his still, unmoving legs, paralyzed through the roaring in his own head.

For several long moments, no one said anything at all.

"...Roy," Maes told him quietly. In spite of his best friend's usually cavalier attitude he could hear the hesitation and something almost close to fear; it felt like he was going to throw up. "I... know you're worried, but... Roy, it's going to be okay-"

"Shut _up."_

Maes, quite intelligently, Roy thought, went silent. It was probably his most intelligent feat of the damn _week._

Unfortunately for him, however, those quiet words were all that had been needed to break the camel's back.

"No, _really,_ Maes," he hissed, for the first time turning fully to face him and relishing the wide-eyed, stricken stare those words earned him. Maes was shocked? Maes was taken aback? _Good._ Because he was nowhere near done. "It's going to be okay, you say? Really? Are you the one with a head injury now; do you not remember what that doctor _just said?"_

Maes watched him silently again, troubled but blessedly quiet, and Roy forged onwards like it was a war, wrecking his way through Maes' unreadable expression and doing everything he could to tear him apart. "What part of that speech sounded _okay_ to you? Sorry, Maes; I guess I forgot, Amestris elects Fuhrers in wheelchairs all the time. And my career? My _career?_ Why is all that I can fucking care about my _career?_ Fuck you, Maes, I- _I can't even walk!"_

"You know that's not what he said at all," Maes interjected quietly, but it was too god damn late for that.

It was too late for _everything._

Roy shut his eyes, breathing harshly through clenched teeth and fighting with every rebelling bit of himself for control. His chest hurt with every gasp, and he fought to breathe even deeper, something about the pain almost addicting. His broken hands hurt, and he clenched those, too, fisting them in the pathetic bedsheets as best he could and living for the anguish in it. His legs hurt- which was ridiculous, if he took even a half second to think about it.

 _Everything_ hurt, and nothing mattered anymore, because- _because..._

"Get out, Maes," he managed roughly when he could finally speak. He kept his eyes closed, breaths forcefully measured, and waited for him to be gone.

He didn't know why he suddenly wanted Maes out of the room. He owed his life to him right now, and probably his sanity as well, and Maes had done nothing to deserve it- but right now, Roy just wanted him gone. He wanted to be desperately alone and never have to see another person ever again. He wanted the world to stop, his nightmares to stop, the pain to go away, and right now all he really wanted was just to fucking _stand._

All that he wanted that was within his grasp, though, was for Maes to leave, so he kept his eyes closed, his breaths steady, and waited for the inevitable sound of him getting up to go.

For several seconds, there was nothing but a thick, uncomfortable silence.

Then:

"No," Maes said flatly, and there was the distinct sound of his best friend pushing the plastic chair back to make himself even more present and long-term comfortable.

Roy's eyes shot open.

"W- what?" he stammered, jerking back around to stare at him. His legs only barely moved with the rest of his body and self-revulsion stirred in his heart again. "Hughes, I said-"

"I know, get out, I heard you." Maes tilted his head to watch him over his glasses, infuriatingly unreadable and sad. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I don't think it's the best idea for me to head off and leave you to stew with your unreasonable pessimism to convince yourself you're doomed for life." He smiled a little, but it was another sad one, and Roy's heart lurched. "Sorry, but you're stuck with me."

Roy stared at him a moment longer, shock driving another harsh gasp out of him, mind reeling. "You're- you're-" He glared at him, heart blazing defiance. He was serious! Here Roy was, the only fucking thing he wanted in the world was for Maes to just get away from him and let him fall apart for one day of his life- and there Maes sat, downright refusing him even fucking _privacy-_

" _Fine,"_ he all but snarled, squeezing his eyes shut again as he threw himself roughly back down onto the lumpy mattress which was still the softest thing he'd had in months. He turned definitively onto his other side, back to Maes as he dragged the blankets over himself and buried his face into the pillow. He wanted to hide. He wanted to not _exist_ anymore. He wanted everything to stop, _now,_ and more than anything he just wanted Maes to leave him alone.

Maes didn't leave.

But he stayed quiet, and- well, praise god for small mercies.

 _I can't feel my legs._

 _He said I should. The doctor said-_

 _But I CAN'T._

He felt the traitorous, pathetic sob starting to grow in his throat, and he shoved it back as hard as he could before the stubborn man at his back could hear it.

He wasn't crying. He was a man, goddamnit, and he was _fine._ He wasn't falling apart. He was going to get past this, pull himself straight back onto his feet because if ten year old Edward Elric could manage it so the hell could he, and if he could survive committing genocide then what _right_ did he even have to be falling apart just because he'd earned a few new scars and spent the last six weeks getting the brains beaten out of his skull?

What did any of it even _matter_ , anymore?

He was not _fucking_ crying.

Several minutes later, he felt Maes carefully touch his shoulder again. Roy held himself perfectly still, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted to rip the son of a bitch's arm straight off and throw it across the room.

"I'm really sorry about all of this, Roy," he said after several long, almost unbearable moments. His voice was suspiciously thick, and somehow that made the tightness gathering his throat even worse. "And I... I know that you don't want to hear this now, but-"

"I'm fine, Maes," he cut in softly, voice somewhere between harsh and unsteady. He didn't shut his eyes, that would've been a bit too pathetic; all he could handle right now was just staring hard away from him as he kept on fighting with the thickness in his throat.

It took a few seconds, this time, but then Maes sighed again, and this time, it had a warm sort of fondness to it that was familiar. "I know you are, Roy," he said quietly, hand still on his shoulder, and he could hear the slight smile on his voice. "I know you are."

Roy kept his gaze focused away from him, and didn't let himself say anything more.

* * *

"Elicia wants to see you," Maes blurted.

Roy gave him a very tired, sidelong glance without even bothering to turn his head. "...Your point?" he asked dully, when his friend did not continue. He looked at the fading sunlight out the window, watching as the day struggled on forwards its last legs before night fell.

Maes cleared his throat rather awkwardly, seeming unsure of how to say what he wanted to. "I was just thinking that you, um... might want to wait a while. She's quite upset and I really don't know how she'll react..."

He nearly laughed aloud, not that it was funny, but because it irritated him to no end, and it was almost amusing, really, how even Maes seemed to have mastered that art, as of late. As if he was so fragile he needed Maes to protect him from a five year old.

Then he blinked, the heavy reluctance and sadness in his friend's voice actually registering, and he realized this was about more than just his own mess of a state right now. "Upset?" he quoted, looking back at him. "Why would she be upset?"

Maes gave him an odd look. "Why wouldn't she be?"

"I... I thought she didn't know about... any of this." He waved his hand unhelpfully at himself and frowned slightly, trying to stifle and shove away his own unease and failing miserably. "...I thought that's... what you told me..."

But, then, his own memories had been less than infallible, lately.

Was it possible he'd imagined that, too...?

But Maes didn't stare at him in alarm or pity, either of which would've told him the truth; rather, his friend sighed heavily, sitting back with a miserable shake of his head in his chair. "Well, that's what I thought, at the time. Turns out that wasn't quite the case." He paused for a moment, irritably pulling off his glasses to clean them anxiously on his sleeve in his nervous tick. "Apparently, over a month ago, Elicia's friend at school was complaining about how her father kept having to work late night, because he was trying to find someone named 'Mustang'. ...Her friend named Allison Hakuro."

Roy swore quietly. "You've got to be kidding me."

Maes looked even more distressed by the news as he nodded, scowling. "Oh, I wish. Apparently, little Miss Hakuro was saying she just wanted the weekend to come already- because then they'd give up, and her daddy could come because Mustang would be dead." He paused for a moment, giving him a dark look. "In what very little defense I'm going to give that terrible child, she had no idea that Elicia knew you."

For a moment, Roy just stared at him in disbelief. Then he leaned his head back and shut his eyes, massaging his throbbing temples. "What a lovely child," he deadpanned, "truly; she really takes after father. And I'm sure that comment of hers just went over splendidly with Elicia."

Maes shook his head sadly, looking so acutely miserable for a moment his state was even more pitiful than Roy's. "She burst into tears and starting sobbing in the middle of class. Her teacher had to call Gracia to come pick her up... she was inconsolable, Roy." He shook his head again, burying his face in his hand for a moment. "Gracia had to explain to her what being declared dead was, and just that it was happening didn't mean you weren't coming back. She just told Elicia that you were lost, and I was looking for you, but that you were very, very lost so it might take a while to bring you home..." Maes trailed off with a hopeless, half miserable smile. "As I'm sure you can imagine, it didn't help much. She's been asking her every day since if I'd found you yet... Gracia told her not to ask me about it- that I was working very hard looking for you and couldn't be distracted."

He paused for a moment, biting his lip. "Really, she just didn't want Elicia pressuring me to find you, too. That's what she said, anyway. I guess she was right... I was so focused on looking for you I didn't realize how sad Elicia's been until everything came out. I think she thought Gracia was lying to her, near the end- that you _were_ dead and we just weren't telling her. She's... she's been crying a lot..."

Roy cursed again, tearing his eyes away. Beautiful. Now even _Elicia_ was crying over him. Was that his new talent? First he stole hearts; now he just broke them...

"Well, I suppose you'd best bring her, then," he sighed, unsure why the prospect left him so reluctant or anxious. "If she thinks you're lying now, she probably won't believe anything until she actually sees me." Then he frowned, tilting his head to the side as he looked back at his friend curiously. "Come to think of it, why hasn't she been here yet? If she's so upset, I mean- why is this the first time you've brought this up?"

Maes gave him an uncomfortable look, not quite meeting his eyes. "Well, you were pretty sick for a while there, you know, buddy. That would've just scared her worse..."

For a moment, Roy was about to protest. After all, while Maes was right, he'd recovered from the infection and fever almost a week ago now. He'd been lucid for quite a while.

Then, he understood.

He looked down at himself for a moment, vaguely queasy. Discolored, stitched, and broken, he looked like a badly abused toy doll that some mother had painstakingly patched back together when it would've been far less work to just go buy a new one. He _still_ looked like one, infection or no. It was only this morning the last of the stitches in his face had come out, two black, grotesque lines that had stretched across his nose to end twistedly under his eye.

He would've terrified Elicia like that.

In fact, there was a chance he still would, because even now...

He saw the way they all looked at him. Even Maes, sometimes, though he'd try his best to hide it. They didn't see a confident military colonel here, no matter how hard he tried to make it so. They just looked and saw everything that was wrong with him; saw something shattered and broken.

His jaw clenched.

"Bring Elicia in tomorrow," he said stiffly, raising his gaze up to his friend. He flinched when he found the worry and uncertainty there, pity lurking in his guarded eyes and sadness still clinging to every part of him.

"Are you sure you're ready to-"

"She's _five,"_ he hissed through clenched teeth, a tremor of rage and shame shaking down his spine. "I think I can bloody well handle your daughter. Unless she's become a combat State Alchemist while I was gone? Or is it just that the Flame is _really_ that pathetic now that you must-" He cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath, squeezing his eyes shut and curling his fists so tight his nails bit into his palms. Oh, yes. And _this_ was certainly helping matters, wasn't it? Losing all self-control and throwing a tantrum like a spoiled, temperamental child. Splendid. No wonder Riza wouldn't so much as touch him these days, if this was the kind of pathetic creature she saw...

Maes was looking at him again. Like _that_ again.

"...Just bring her in," he reiterated flatly, then turned his gaze out the darkening window again.

To avoid seeing that look in his eyes.

Maes didn't say anything at first, just quietly watching him while Roy flat out refused to look at him. "Okay," he murmured at last, a cross between reluctant and apprehensive, but at least he wasn't fighting him on this like he thought Roy was so fragile he wouldn't be able to handle it.

Good.

He just closed his eyes, listening as Maes pushed his plastic chair back and stood, the rustle of his uniform as he straightened. "I'll... see you tomorrow, then," he said, and Roy somehow stopped himself from flinching as Maes moved closer, giving him a light, around the shoulders sort of hug as a goodbye. "Get some sleep, Roy," he said, absentminded, half-distracted, almost, and Maes, too, was doing his best not to look at him as he headed towards the door.

* * *

The next morning, a school day, as it was, Roy jerked awake trepidatious and anxious, already dreading the afternoon when Elicia would get out of school. To make matters even worse, Maes wouldn't be there; he'd cagily told Roy that a case was heating up at work and that he'd be stuck there all day today- and the way he'd said it had left him suspicious, somehow, in a way he couldn't quite place... Maes was frustratingly overprotective now, yes, but surely he was not so much of a mess that the idiot thought he couldn't handle hearing details about a case.

Surely he was just imaging it...

But, whatever the case may have been, Roy found him sourly missing the reassuring sense that would've come just from knowing he wouldn't have had to face Elicia and Gracia alone. Which was so acutely pathetic he was left in a dark stormcloud of a mood ever since waking up, one that worsened with each ticking hour- and was abruptly catapulted into a seething rage when the doctor made another visit, and informed him it was time to start learning how to use the wheelchair.

It would be the first time the doctors had let him out of bed, getting him accustomed to using the wheelchair that they'd already told him would become a staple for weeks or even _months._ Ordinarily, the prospect of no longer being bedridden would've left him thrilled- but _this..._

It pushed his sulk into an outright black and foul mood, trying not to shout at those simpering nurses watching from around the corner and fighting the urge to blow up something with every word out of the goddamn doctor's mouth. Never mind not wanting to look pathetic. Never mind wanting everyone to stop treating him like a damn child. He _didn't_ want to do this, didn't want to do it so much he desperately desired to just set this godforsaken wheelchair on fire, drag himself to the nearest closet, and hide from the world until he wasted away into dust.

And it was in that state, whether by design or accident, that Ed and Al made their first appearance.

He'd already felt emasculated and humiliated beyond belief, and the sound of the little hellspawn walking down the hallway had made him want to grab his gloves and set fire to the whole damn building. He'd burn the place to the ground and die in the fire before he'd let the brat see this circus, because of all the people to not see him like this, _Fullmetal_ was number fucking one. He seethed at the floor until the brat came face to face with him then glared up at him, looking him right in the eyes and just daring him to open his fucking mouth.

Ed had just looked at him for a moment, arms folded, expression entirely unreadable, and then, he'd smirked.

"This is just sad, Mustang," he'd said, pointing at the hallway he'd been struggling his pathetic way down. "Seriously, come on. A little girl could go faster than this."

It felt like he'd been slapped. "Well," he snarled through clenched teeth, clutching at his thin, hospital-issue pants so hard the fabric nearly ripped, "you would certainly be well acquainted with little girls in wheelchairs, Fullmetal. You did cry like one back when we first met."

It was a cruel, low blow, and he'd known it was too far even as he said it- didn't even know _why_ he'd said such a horrible thing, really- and he mentally cringed and smacked himself but was just unable to lower his pride enough to quit glaring at him and apologize. Ed, however, just rolled his eyes, seeming to have almost expected the horribly cruel words, and plodded over to drag an abandoned wheelchair away from the wall, smirking all the while. "You're a bastard. Good. Thought they might've beat that out of ya." That he said, he sat himself down right next to him and pointed to the end of the hallway, eyes glinting with a mischievous light. "Now, like I said, this is just pathetic. I'm going to have to teach you how to wheelchair race like a man, obviously."

"Fullmetal," he hissed, because he was _not_ in the mood for this shit, "this is a hospital, not a playground, and unlike you, I am not a child. I am not participating in whatever juvenile-"

"Yes, you are," Ed said firmly, and that was that. "Al, count us off, okay? Mustang, to the end of the hallway. Whoever gets there first wins. And unless you want to listen to me laughing at you for being such a _loser_ for the rest of the day, you damn well better at least try and win, you got that? Not that you'll actually win, of course. Because I'm better than you."

And, because Ed really would do it, Roy found himself hurtling off after Ed as the hellcat wheeled himself so fast down the hallway it was nearly unbelievable, if only to get the runt off his back for the rest of the day. No one had more experience abusing a wheelchair than his brat of a subordinate, though, so even with Roy sincerely trying, Ed still beat him by at least five seconds. And when he finally got there, dripping with sweat, panting, and _hating_ the kid with every fiber of his being, Ed simply stood and clapped him on the shoulder, smirking all the while.

"You suck. I could've had breakfast in the time it took for you to get here."

"Shut... shut up..." he wheezed, vainly reaching out to try and smack at him; Ed calmly reeled back and laughed at him, smirking again.

"Well, you clearly need the practice, old man. I'll give you a couple of days, then come back, race you again." He paused for a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "If you're not at least two seconds faster I'll make sure to blow up an extra building or two on my next mission or two- just for you!"

Roy made another frustrated attempt to yank the kid closer, seething. He could already see budgeting nightmare building up on his desk. "You brat, get back here! This- this isn't even a fair race, I'm _injured-"_

"Bleh," Ed said eloquently, sticking his tongue out at him. "Injured _bleh._ Come on, Al, I'm starving."

Roy stared in disbelief as the kid dragged his brother off down the hallway, Al shooting him an apologetic look over his shoulder as his monster of a sibling led him away. He just watched incredulously as the pair left, completely at a loss for how to react or even think.

But for the first time since he'd realized told those bastards had broken more than just his spine, he felt like something more than a piece of humiliated, used, forgotten trash, and he found himself grinning as Ed and Al disappeared around the corner.

Wiping his hand along his forehead, Roy sank back with another shaky gasp of a breath, hands trembling and still trying to battle back a smile. He just waited there for several moments, trying to get his breath back, then finally shook his head with a little smile and started to push himself onwards. It was still embarrassing and humiliating, being seen like this- but the reminder that Ed had been just like this, once, was all he'd needed right now. Ed really had once been as low down as this- and... _well, just look at him now, Roy._

He'd be fine. He _could_ survive this.

Still grinning a little, and definitely still sweating- which he was going to get Ed back for- Roy headed on, for the first time since he'd woken up here setting his sights elsewhere besides just hiding in his room. There was a little cafe somewhere on this floor, wasn't there? A shitty one, like everything hospital related was, but still- it probably would be best for him to try and endure being in public like this for a little while longer, since...

Well, since he really was going to have to get used to this.

His good spirits dimmed a little, but not dead yet, he wouldn't let them crash just yet. Roy moved on ahead with his new destination in mind. He paused as he reached the corner, wiping a trembling hand along his forehead again...

"Yeah, that's all I'm saying. I'm worried."

He stopped, frowning.

Was that... Maes?

"Hey, you don't need to convince me! _He's_ the one we need to convince."

Maes, definitely. And it sounded like he was on a pay phone...

Frowning, Roy pushed himself a little more forward, just close enough to sneak a look around the corner. Maes was, in fact, standing there, back to him as he twisted the cord around his hand, phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, and dressed in full uniform. What had happened to that supposed case he was supposed to be working?

"That's all I'm- but- he's-... yeah." Maes sighed, leaning a little more against the wall. "It's complicated. He's doing well enough, I suppose. He's supposed to be released by the end of the week..."

Roy perked up, his eyes widening. Just who was Maes talking to? About, by the sound of it, _him?_

"Yeah, well, you'd think, wouldn't you? I talked to the doctor. They want to have him in some rehab center once he's released. They said he'd recover a lot faster that way."

 _What?!_ His fists clenched, anger and betrayal suddenly exploding in his chest and vision washing with a red hot haze, shaking his head vehemently over and over. They wanted to do _what_ to him? No. No way in hell! He didn't care if it was the fanciest, cushiest damn place in all of Amestris; he was _not_ going there! _No!_ They wanted to send him off to some long-term hospital and just leave him there for weeks, months- _no._ How could they even _think_ of doing that to him? He wouldn't go. He didn't care how stupid and childish it made him look; he _wouldn't!_ He was doing absolutely _nothing_ but going to his own home, with his own bed, and potentially locking himself in there forever, and if _Maes_ , god damn him, wanted to say otherwise-

"Yeah, I _know_ it's more convenient," Maes went on breathlessly, "but if you include the bitch fit you _know_ he'd throw about it, is it really? And I know I lovingly call that idiot a melodramatic little drama queen, but honestly, over this, don't you think he has the right? Can you say you'd want to do that, either? You- ...yes, I know it's not just about what he wants here. I know it's about what he needs. But..." Maes trailed off with a hopeless little sigh, pinching the skin of his forehead with a groan.

It felt like Roy had been hit with a ton of bricks. He sat back, seething, and clenched his fists so hard his nails opened old scabs. That son of a _bitch._ What he needed? What he _needed?!_ What he _needed,_ was for people to stop treating him like he was a damn _child_ and acting as if they knew what was best for him. He wasn't fragile, he wasn't stupid, he wasn't suicidal, and he could damn well take care of himself. He did not need their _help._ And if sitting there letting his spine get beaten into broken bits of bone while still keeping his mouth _shut_ wasn't enough to earn their fucking respect, then-

"No!" Maes suddenly snapped, breathing out one great, frustrated sigh of air. "Yes, Roy needs a security detail right now, I know. We have to protect him until... yes, I _know._ And yes, it's easier to run that detail out of a private hospital than his apartment. But even if we told Roy everything, he still wouldn't agree to this! That's- no, I think we should keep it from him, he'd lose his mind otherwise, but- but, Riza! Riza- he _won't_ want to do this, and we shouldn't have the right to make him."

Roy's eyes widened again.

Once again, it felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

Riza.

Maes was talking to Riza... about keeping something from him.

His eyes darkened, and a cold rage swept through him again from head to his numb toes.

This wasn't about them forcing him into another hospital at all. No...

He was being lied to.


End file.
